


untitled (prove it)

by bbam (latenightboysclub)



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Angst, M/M, Reincarnation, Smut, Soulmates, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightboysclub/pseuds/bbam
Summary: Jinyoung isn't sure how he's still alive.





	1. Chapter 1

Jinyoung wakes up and it feels like all the dark matter in the universe is flooding his eardrums, he can't hear anything except the blood rushing into, out of, his ears. Where is he? All he remembers is that fucking flight attendant telling him to sit back and buckle up his seatbelt. Then there was the wave of turbulence in the atmosphere, powerful enough to shake the entirety of the world to its core. Jinyoung couldn't get up to warn him, to strap him in tightly so he didn't have to see the familiar body bouncing off the ceiling of the cabin and they were right _there_ \-- suspended in limbo. He blacks out.

His vision refocuses as he comes to. He inhales deeply and it feels like he's breathing shards of glass, each individual blade pressing into the pink flesh of his lungs. Feels like fire. Can't be extinguished even though the cool drops fall in arrhythmic _tat-tatta-tats._ There's red splotches on the monochrome stripes and Jinyoung has enough in him to grimace. What a pain-in-the-ass it'll be to get them out. Is that his blood? Where is he? Not a plane. The hot asphalt pressing into his cheek brings him back to the present. What was that memory? He's never been on a plane.

Now he remembers. The last bus of the late night service. Must've been an accident. He wonders if the two girls at the back of the bus decided to get off before the last stop. The last stop is Jinyoung's, then he'd be not too far from home. From Mark. He should call Mark. He would call Mark if he could find his phone. Oh, if only he knew he was going to die, he could've told Mark how much he loved him days ago. If he knew he'd be here, Jinyoung wouldn't have said all those things days ago. A warm drop slides down his cheek to follow its colder counterparts.

There's a presence at his side. It's comforting but oh, so familiar it could make Jinyoung cry with how at ease he feels, even with [someone else's] blood on his favorite shirt. He's so afraid that he'll die here, in the rain with the red lights too far away and without getting to kiss his lover goodbye. He can't die here. Jinyoung's been through too much to die here, and the feeling next to him gets stronger with that thought. A guardian angel possibly? His mother told him a lot about that as a child; Jinyoung was a firm disbeliever. Supernaturalism isn't legitimate and Jinyoung stands by that up until he hears his name murmured in his ear. A voice that sounds like the rain. Sounds so, so loving.

He aches all over but the paramedics are already at his side, checking him for any injuries. Feels like fog is suffocating his thoughts and through it he hears someone ask if he has a point of contact. Words feel like lead on his tongue, molten and heavy and too clumsy to work around. _Mark Tuan, please._ A wave rolls over his body, intangible as it soothes the burning in his lungs and the aches all over. It feels almost too good to be true, the way every muscle in his body relaxed in relief. There's an oxygen mask being pressed over his face, channeling cool, sweet air to his mouth. Another wave, another blackout, he lets himself go under this time.

 

* * *

 

Jinyoung is silent during the slow ride home, refusing to meet Mark's gaze. A thousand years it feels like in that car. He's silent as Mark helps him out of the car, helps him up the stairs to their small apartment, changes him into his pajamas. Jinyoung wonders what Mark would've done with all of the books overflowing from the shelf if he hadn't come back to finish reading them.

The younger of the two still shakes a little with each step. Jinyoung is sitting in front of the dresser, staring into his reflection while Mark brushes his hair. The stereo is white noise, static of quiet R&B, filling their silence. The first words are loving, and finally, they make eye contact through the mirror. "Jinyoung-ah. I'm here," Mark yields first, offering a slight smile.

Mark. Mark is there and Jinyoung is there. And he's crying again, slow at first the way we do when we don't want to, then it comes all at once. Jinyoung lets himself fall into Mark, he's sobbing into his chest, crying "I love yous" and "I'm so sorry I said thoses" and "I didn't mean its". A careful hand strokes Jinyoung's hair. He's safe here, in Mark's arms where he belongs. Belonging and being wanted feels so good, Jinyoung concludes.

"I was supposed to die, Mark. I was. But I didn't and I lived because there was someone there. He saved me. Why? I should've died then." He looks up at Mark, almost desperately. Where is his savior to ask him why?

"I don't know." Pretty Mark, lilac-haired, soft Mark kisses the scratches on Jinyoung's cheeks where the band-aids rest and holds his face gently. His whole world. "Well, I'm thankful that he did save you, whoever he was." A soft smile, glittering eyes? "You know you're everything to me."

 

* * *

 

Jinyoung is settled as the small spoon under their blue bedsheets. Autumn is coming soon. The rain was his favorite. He counts the drops on the window. He hasn't closed his eyes yet tonight, even with Mark's rhythmic breathing on the back of his neck and a second chance at life. Feels like there's someone watching him. Not an unsettling eye, but a doting, almost warm eye upon him. Feels good though. Familiar. The wall clock ticks away, ticking forwards. Time given to Jinyoung to live again. He would've missed the changing seasons. Mark's birthday. His birthday. Love.

Sounds like someone's murmuring his name. _Jinyoung, Jinyoung, Jinyoung._ Voice like the rain. Loving. Sleep comes easy.


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you believe in angels, Mark?" Jinyoung whispers the question like it's a childish secret between two best friends who have the answers to everything their eight-year-old worlds contained. Since the bus accident and walking away almost unscathed, Jinyoung has had more than enough reason to acknowledge the potential presence of spirituality and mythical guardians who watch over chosen humans. It's common for people to believe in a higher being after surviving a life-threatening situation, and Jinyoung is no exception.

"I believe in whatever kept you alive," his lover murmurs, bringing Jinyoung's hand to his own lips. He kisses each fingertip individually, delicately. It's been weeks now and Mark is still heartbreakingly gentle, as if he thinks Jinyoung will fall to pieces. As if the angel who gave him life will take it back. Jinyoung doesn't mind. He likes when Mark treats him like this. "I'll believe what you believe." The younger stabilizes himself with his hands on Mark's shoulders, looking down at his lover. His eyes are locked on Jinyoung, following every movement with hyperfocused senses. Mark drinks him in fully, the flush of pink that flowers down his neck to his collarbones. He traces the pink paths with a finger and leaves goosebumps in his wake. "Pretty."

"Mark-hyung," Jinyoung whimpers. "Keep touching me. You know how I like it."

Lilac-haired Mark grins impishly in that way that makes Jinyoung's knees turn to jelly and his ears blush red. "You only insist on calling me hyung when you want something. Let me hear what you want."

Mark's always been like this in their sexual relationship, and Jinyoung remembers it back to even their very first date. He'd messed around with Jackson in high school a couple times and always knew he was into guys, but actually being involved sexually with Mark was new ground. They had known each other through mutual friends through the end of high school to their second year of university, and were good friends. Mark was a psychology major-slash-martial artist-slash-classic Cali boy. He juggled a social life with his studies and travels in a masterful fashion that only made Jinyoung even more attracted to him. It had just taken some convincing from Jackson to get Mark to go on a date with the younger.

Mark was everything Jinyoung wanted in a significant other: soft-spoken, observant, drop-dead gorgeous.

He had a little bit of a bold side too, movie-hopping in the theatre and running back to his apartment through a rainstorm after their first date. He didn't mind romping around in their rain-soaked clothes on the bed when they got to his place. He didn't mind bottoming out first for Jinyoung, nor letting the younger take the lead. Mark always sat backseat to let Jinyoung do what he wanted, but when he orchestrated their movements, Jinyoung always melted.

Their first time together was easy. Comfortable. Jinyoung really liked him and liked the way Mark bit at his earlobes and liked when he'd breathe, "So cute, my Jirongie," when Jinyoung was on top. The nickname made him melt every time and Mark knew it. But the first time, the nickname felt familiar, tugged at his gut like it was coming off of someone else's tongue. It wasn't uncomfortable. Just a sense of déjà vu stuck in the pit of his stomach he couldn't shake. Well, it was stuck there until Mark woke him with a clumsily-made Western breakfast and gentle kisses. And Mark still does, and it always feels as good as if he's doing it for the very first time.

Mark's hand strokes at soft skin and brings him to the present, guides Jinyoung's hips to work in this way, not that way. He digs his nails into Mark's shoulders at the electricity coursing through his body. It lights his blood on fire, makes his back arch and toes curl as it races through his veins. Each and every moment with him is a unique experience; Jinyoung's never felt the same things twice with Mark. "That's it, Jirongie. Just like that." His half-lidded eyes are sparkling faintly, he's hungry for Jinyoung's skin. Skin dotted with beauty marks and bite marks and red marks from fingers gripping tightly. "Keep going. Almost there."

Jinyoung feels dizzy from the praise. His whirling head feels full of cotton and his vision is filled with the image of plush pink lips mouthing around words that he can't hear. What his ears can't pick up, his body does, and he reaches his peak with a hand ghosting up his spine.

* * *

A hand brushes Jinyoung's bangs as he lies drifting in and out of slumber. Mark is a heavy sleeper, and likes to keep both arms wrapped snugly around Jinyoung's waist, so, that isn't Mark's hand in his hair. Is it? Mark likes to shift around in sleep too, he wouldn't be surprised if it was a new habit. "Mark-hyung, what're you doing?"

A sleepy murmur is the only response, and as he shifts around to look, he sees that Mark is facing away from Jinyoung this time. Not him… A jolt goes through Jinyoung. A stalker? Did someone break in? He rolls over, and his eyes focus on a figure, a dark silhouette kneeling next to the bed, lined against the blue twilight spilling in from the window. Well, dark but still transparent enough to make out the rectangle of the pane and curtains just beyond. A face? He can't see much and he's barely awake, but he can just make out facial features, somehow spots a pair of beauty marks.

A smile. _"Sleep well."_ He recognizes the voice from it calling his name before, but it's clearer this time. Thick and deep, smooth like honey. Still so familiar, he doesn't remember where it's from, or who it is. He just knows the name and feels a bittersweet, unnameable emotion to go along with it. _"My sweet Jirongie."_

 _Oh._ That makes his tummy flutter, but makes his slumber all the more sweet.


End file.
